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[houseoftang]

what if people we consider collectors today were actually just dragons in disguise, building their hoards?

“I am a dragon. And this is my hoard.”

“You… don’t look like a dragon.”

“Well, hardly anyone does, these days. Times have changed, we have too. The scales and tails thing worked with the dinosaurs, but we learned quite quickly that… that wasn’t going to fly with you people.”

“You were around all the way back to the dinosaurs?”

“Well, not like… me personally. How old do you think I am?”

“… There’s no safe answer to that.”

“No.”

“So… when you say this is your hoard…?”

“All dragons have them. Some stick to the old gold and jewels thing, but that’s so cliche these days. Most of us like our hoards to be a little bit more sophisticated than ‘shiny.’“

“Like what?”

“I have known dragons to collect snowflakes from the first fall of the year over dozens of centuries. I know dragons that collect petals of flowers left on the graves of loved ones. Dragons that keep and care for soft toys and comfort items, left behind as children grow up. Dragons that guard happy memories and shards of sunlight, kept safe for rainy days. And me, I keep a sanctuary of words. A bastion of language, of poetry. Of written music and achingly beautiful prose. I am the Guardian of this monument to linguistic majesty. I collect stories of love and life and death and mourning and joy. There is nothing more beautiful in all the world, no coin or gem or sliver of starlight more fantastic than a well-told tale. A story is this world’s truest treasure, and what better chest for it than a book?”

“Wow. So these things… really mean a lot to you, huh?”

“More than anything in this world.”

“So… I probably can’t borrow your copies of Discworld, can I?”

“You absolutely fucking cannot.”

[houseoftang]

A poet's love is a lonely love...

[houseoftang]

#Dreamforce, it's been fun but it's time. #pentagram #monkeyinferno (at Monkey Inferno)

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Northern Ireland is one of the main filming locations for Game of Thrones, and to immortalise the unforgettable series locations, from Winterfell to the Iron Islands, Tourism Ireland has unveiled a giant, 77-metre long, Bayeux-style tapestry.

[houseoftang]

Okay kids today we’re gonna talk about Edmonia Lewis

Edmonia was a sculptor in the 19th century, and was half African-American and half Native American. She was one of the first people of colour from America to earn international fame and success for her artwork. She started sculpting during the civil war and trained under some of the most influential abolitionist sculptors of the time.

Not only was she a successful WOC artist, but she sculpted other people of colour in the neoclassical style:

Forever Free (1867)

Old Arrow-Maker and his Daughter (1866)

The Marriage of Hiawatha (1866)

Do you know how rare it was in the 19th century to have a piece of artwork show black people or Native Americans without them being ‘savages’ or half naked? Let me tell you, it’s pretty damn rare.

She would purposely leave her women more clothed than her male figures to desexualise them, and I probably don’t need to tell you why that was important at this time (if you really want to see how white artists saw black women, look up American Slave and The Virginian Slave).

Unfortunately she was made to make her female figures look more European as she got backlash accusing her of inserting herself into figures BUT they’re still hugely impressive given that most famous sculptors at this time had teams of people working on their work and adding all the details by hand, whereas Edmonia did absolutely everything herself.

Basically I think about Edmonia Lewis a lot and I think more people should know about her.

[houseoftang]

Edvard Munch, The Brooch, Eva Mudocci, 1903. Lithograph on paper. Via Göteborgs Kunstmuseum

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we’re both great (by @adamtots)

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things you never hear about the signs

Aries: They doubt themselves. They need reassurance and validation from people they love, and if you give them this, they’ll be your loudest, strongest, most enthusiastic cheerleaders. They’ll always stand up and fight for you (even if they know you’re in the wrong)… if you do the same for them. Don’t take this for granted.

Taurus: They will put themselves first. Always. It’s because they feel like no one else does, though; they always get taken for granted and ignored and they get so sick of it. They will break your heart with their selfishness, but they do love you. Believe them when they say it.

Gemini: They’re lonely. Even surrounded by people, a Gemini can be so, so, lonely, because they long for emotional closeness and a deep mental connection. They lose interest in people so quickly because this connection isn’t there with most people.

Cancer: They’re mean and selfish. They guilt trip and play the blame game, because they don’t want to face the truth about themselves. They act tough, talk shit, hang out with people they don’t really care about, and they try to pretend that this is who they are. It’s not. They’re trying to protect themselves from the harsh, judgmental world by acting like they hate the best parts of it.

Leo: They blame themselves for everything. A Leo may act like a diva, throw a temper tantrum and accuse you of ruining their life, but inside, their heart is breaking because they failed themselves. Not only that, but they failed you, too. And they hate themselves for that. They have trouble forgiving others, but they have even more trouble forgiving themselves.

Virgo: They are not cold. They are actually sensitive and easily hurt, and they protect themselves by building a robotic, analytical exterior. They have such high standards for the people in their life because they’re scared of getting hurt. Deep down, a Virgo just wants to throw away all their worries and inhibitions and be free. 

Libra: They’re incredibly loyal. Once a Libra decides they like you, they may stray, lose contact, hang out with other people, but they will never completely forget you. At some point, they will always come back to you. They value friendship and love more than anything; this is both their best quality and their biggest weakness. They give people so many chances, and as a result they are used and hurt so many times, because they never lose faith or become bitter.

Scorpio: They need someone to tell their thoughts to. Scorpios are secretive and mysterious creatures, but they can’t stand having no one who really knows them. A Scorpio is selective about who they trust, but if they do trust you, you will be surprised about how open they are. 

Sagittarius: They don’t bounce back so easily. Sagittarians are not always happy-go-lucky and content. A Sagittarius is prone to feelings of inadequacy and anxiety, but they do their best to hide this from people. They are incredibly strong, but they still fight their personal battles like everyone else and can be very sensitive. They don’t need to be coddled or helped through difficult times, they just need you to stand by them while they fight their demons.

Capricorn: They care the most, but have the worst time trying to show it. Their natural tendency is to hide their feelings and retreat from those they care for. They confuse people with their hot-and-cold behavior. They frustrate themselves, because they want to throw themselves into everything they do, but they can’t work up the energy or the courage to do so.

Aquarius: They like people as a whole more than they like people individually. They have tremendous respect and faith in humanity, but can’t bring themselves to have the same love for even those closest to them. They are detached, often putting more of themselves into clubs and projects than into their friends and family. They are concerned with “the greater good”, and they don’t let individuals get in their way.

Pisces: They will not let you treat them badly. They won’t confront you or try to talk to you about your behavior. They won’t try to convince you that they are right and you are wrong. They’ll just slowly slip out of your life, leaving you wondering if you ever meant anything to them at all. Don’t underestimate the power of a Pisces to break your heart without saying a word.

[houseoftang]

I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?

Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.

The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–

And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.

She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.

Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”

“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”

“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”

“You promise?”

“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.

–

Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.

The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.

In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.

When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.

Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.

Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.

“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”

“And my dad?”

“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”

“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”

Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.

They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.

There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”

“Work is hard work,” said James.

“At least mum gets to curse things.”

“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”

When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”

“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.

“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.

“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.

“I’m trying,” said James.

“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.

“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.

“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.

“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”

“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.

“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.

“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.

“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.

“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”

“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.

–

Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.

Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.

–

It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

“He’s a Muggle.”

“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”

She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.

The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.

Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.

Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.

Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!

“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.

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[houseoftang]

National Poetry Month, Day 1. Here's to the beginning of my poem-a-day for this year's National Poetry Month! #NPM17 #MeninaeideThea #rage #sing #homer #dylanthomas (at San Francisco, California)

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Nikita Gill

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things i never expected to learn through a tedtalk but now am glad to know:

the founder of Sirius XM radio is a sapphic trans woman and is currently trying to preserve her wife’s consciousness in a digital file so her wife can be immortal in the body of a robot.

[houseoftang]

Sportscaster Dale Hansen defends student wrestler Mack Beggs and takes a stand against transphobia

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Nothing says Happy SF Anniversary more than #Totoro on the big screen. And to paraphrase #Jhumpa: as ordinary as life has become living here, there are times when it is beyond my wildest imagination. #halfdecade #5years #SFAnniversary #rainraingoaway #latergram (at Roxie Theater)

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😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

We go forward.